Rare and Welcome
by AdmiralCherokeeRose
Summary: A series of snapshots of the winter after S2. Daryl deals with the group's growing affection for him, as well as his relationship with Carol. Daryl/Carol
1. Rare and Welcome

**AN and Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead at all- just a big fan.**

** This is really the first piece of fan fiction I've ever written, so feedback and critique is welcome. I'm not so great with punctuation sometimes (I'm a huge fan of the comma splice so I made efforts to avoid that) so feel free to let me know if I'm consistently making a mistake.**

**Also, this is meant to be a one-shot but I suppose it could be more than that if I'm inspired. I hope that I've stayed true to the story and the characters as much as possible. I'm a fan of the way they were written originally and I hope that I didn't get too far off track. The Caryl pairing is something I'm hoping for though, so I hope I didn't come on too strong. J The story focuses on them, but I also tried to inject just enough of the other characters to make it feel canon. **

**I hope you enjoy.**

Rare and Welcome

The days had already become bitterly cold and the camps they made were rudimentary as they searched for a more permanent solution to their nomad lifestyle. The encounters with individual walkers were growing scarcer. Rick reckoned they were all gathering into herds, moving as one toward the sounds and smells that sent them shambling toward their prey.

In fact, that's about all anyone got out of Rick lately. He only spoke of their next camp, strategy, or the state of their survival. Everyone was tense in those early days, before they found the house. It wasn't anything special or unique- just a regular farmhouse in the countryside of Georgia. But it was uninhabited and once they'd cleared out the walkers and pests, it was theirs. It was then that everyone was able to relax a little. Rick was still tight lipped about anything but their next move, but everyone else fell into an easy routine. Everyone had their jobs to do.

In the mornings, it was Daryl's duty to hunt or go on a run. He accepted these without prompt, and in truth quite liked the solitude. But leaving the group never crossed his mind. He had already begrudgingly accepted that he cared what happened to these people. He promised himself he'd keep them safe and fed. He did the best he could, but with winter in its early stages, animals were seeking refuge and huddling up, much like his own group. He made do by making trips into town and finding what he could.

With Lori's pregnancy advancing, Carol took it upon herself to not only assist her with anything she needed, but also spearhead the housework duties. She didn't want Lori straining herself with the difficult chores so she found herself bent over most of the day, cleaning, washing, and cooking. She kept her eyes open and sharp though, for the one who was usually missing and out doing his own part for the survival of the group.

Carol really admired Daryl in more ways than one. Mostly, it was his selflessness. The way he volunteered for the toughest jobs and always came back head bowed and humble, despite having saved them from danger or starvation made her feel an immense sense of pride for even having known him. She also hadn't ever discounted what lengths he went to for her and her little girl. It took her some time, but she finally realized that it was a loss for him too. Daryl cared what happened to Sophia, and he really wanted to find her and bring her back to safety and her mother.

Carol, lost in thought over her washboard, wiped a tear that slipped from her eye and exhaled sharply. She didn't cry for Sophia anymore, she cried because the fact that someone could care that much wrenched her heart and made her smile at the same time.

The air was cold and crisp, but bearable in her jacket she found in the house. It was nearly brand-new and a bold tomato red. Carol felt that it drew too much attention to her, but she liked it regardless. Everyone knew where Carol was thanks to her new coat.

Her thoughts turned back to Daryl when her ears picked up the faintest sound of a motorcycle advancing quickly down the road. He'd be here soon. She smiled again and turned her eyes to the road. It occurred to her then that she was alone out in the front yard with her washing. Everyone else was either huddled up in the house or off scouting in the nearby woods. No one was ever as concerned as Carol to welcome home their unlikely hero, Daryl Dixon.

Carol often had nightmares on nights where he was out hunting or foraging that he'd never come back. That he'd be bitten, or simply just run away. These were scarier scenarios to her than their current predicament, being on the run from herds or starving to death. So, she always made sure to welcome him back, to let him know that he was missed. At first, he would shrug her off with a simple "was nothin'" or a gruff grunt in her direction, but after days and days of trips and dozens of squirrels he accepted Carol's greeting with a nod or a smirk.

Today, he had gone into town to look for any supplies available. They were running low on just about everything and it was starting to show. Bodies grew thin as they gave up meals to Lori and Carl, the two members of their new family who needed it most. As Daryl maneuvered his brother's bike down the gravel driveway, Carol hung up Beth's shirt she just finished washing and strode over to the bike.

Daryl dismounted and pulled his leather vest tighter, it wasn't that cold outside, but definitely frigid once you have the wind whipping your face at 50 miles an hour. His lips felt like ice and he pursed them tightly, trying to force some life and warmth into them.

He sensed Carol approaching and made himself busy digging in the side compartments for the bag of few items he found in the stores. He always got this odd nervous feeling when she was around. It wasn't necessarily a bad feeling, just one that made him feel slightly uncomfortable in a way that was foreign to him. She was so friendly and caring, and frankly, he didn't know how to receive it. Shrugging her off was something he tried early on, and it didn't stop her. Now, he tried to keep it all business to avoid having to speak to her for too long. He timed it correctly, and just as she was behind him, he turned and thrust a plastic grocery bag at her. It held a few cans of food and some rudimentary medical supplies like band-aids. They wouldn't be much use against the types of injuries this group usually incurred, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to grab them.

She thanked him for the bag, their hands brushing as they exchanged it. His hands were ice cold from gripping the handlebars in the winter wind. She let an "oh" slip from her mouth, and put the bag down beside her. Saying nothing, she took hold of the hand still extended toward her and sandwiched it between her own.

Feeling that feeling of fluttering in his core again, Daryl shoved his other hand in his pocket before she could seize that one too. Her delicate hands were still warm from having them in the hot washing water. She gently rubbed his hand, creating some friction to warm his up. He looked down at their hands, lips still set in a pursed line. It felt nice, but he wished he could run far away.

Carol looked up and smiled at his face as if to ask him "there, better?" but knew that he wouldn't answer. She released his hand and he shoved that one in his jeans pocket as well. She could see how rigid he was standing there in front of her. She wanted to assure him that she wouldn't hurt him, and that she was so glad he was back. But she knew that Daryl Dixon wasn't a man for words. So she reached up with her still-warm hands and pressed them on either sides of his face.

Daryl nearly flinched as she came at him and clenched his jaw as she reached for his face. But when her hands instantly added warmth to his face, he relaxed incrementally, first in his jaw, then his shoulders, then his back. It was so nice, but he'd be damned if he'd admit that to her. Instead, his mouth hung slightly open and he locked blue eyes with her by mistake. He gently nodded, simultaneously implying a thanks and that that would be enough.

She smiled back at him, and slipped her hands away from the sides of his face, dappled with scruff. She bent to pick up the shopping bag, and with one last smile, walked back to the house.

Daryl stood rooted to the spot for a few moments, trying to process all of the feelings and thoughts going through him. He wasn't angry or frustrated or any of his usual go-to reactions. He felt simultaneously uncomfortable and comfortable. It was a bizarre combination and he wasn't sure what to make of it. He cared about Carol, but this "making him want to run" stuff had to stop. He couldn't leave himself distracted and forfeit the safety of the group. However, the warmth that Carol sent his way was precious to him, not that he would admit it. Her smile, her caring nature, and her thoughtfulness was something he never had before, or maybe even ever. He wasn't about to give that up either.


	2. Confidant

**AN/Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.**

**It's me again, I have decided to make this a chapter story, which I hope you enjoy.**

**This chapter has some language in it that might not be suitable for the rating. If it offends, let me know and I'll change it. **

**I'm not crazy about this chapter but I thought I'd submit it anyway and just write the next one I have in mind, which I think will be better and have more content for us Caryl fans. In the meantime I think this chapter just elaborates on Daryl's discomfort with affection of any kind, be it from Carol or any of his other friends. Let me know what you think!**

Chapter 2: Confidant

It was a rather silent car ride into town. The truck engine rumbled rhythmically and Daryl gazed out the passenger window while Rick sat wordless in the driver's seat. Daryl was okay with the silence, but it seemed to him like Rick wanted to say something. Rick was chewing on his fingers in the thoughtful way that he often did while he compiled words in the right order. The words came out right when Daryl anticipated.

Rick pulled his hand away and without turning to his companion, spoke. "Daryl, I want to apologize." Rick didn't wait for Daryl to ask what he was apologizing for, knowing that his friend wouldn't bother. "I've been distant. I know that. I think everyone resents me for it."

Daryl squinted at Rick, unsure of why he wasn't giving this confession to Lori, the pregnant wife he has more or less ignored since the farm burned. That seemed like the most logical person to apologize to, Daryl reckoned. He only grunted in response, thinking of something better to say.

"I understand if you're questioning my leadership." Rick conceded.

"I'm not. You've done right by me." Daryl tossed him a quick nod, regardless of whether Rick was looking.

"I really appreciate what you're doing for us, Daryl." Rick kept his hands firmly on the wheel. "Without you, we'd never make it. We need you around."

Daryl felt his throat clench. After what happened with Carol the other day on the lawn, he's been shifty around everyone. He didn't really know how to gratefully accept their trust and affection. The encounter with Carol left his stomach knotted and his mouth dry, but Rick pouring his guts out? He was just plain embarrassed. He felt the need to shut him up, before he started weepin' all over him.

"Pfft. Ain't nothin'."

"We all care about you. You've come a long way since we met." Rick smiled, thinking of months before, when he had held a gun to Daryl's head on multiple occasions. "I hardly recognize you."

"Same asshole I always was."

Rick was about to say something else, but he was cut short as they turned into the gravel driveway of the farmhouse. He reached for his pistol automatically, throwing the car door open in one smooth gesture.

Daryl followed suit, opening his door and swinging the heavy crossbow over his shoulder and cocking it. The two men were alarmed and on high guard, as there was a great huge bloody smear, lazily snaking across the yard and up the whitewashed steps and inside the farmhouse. No one was out on the lawn, but the fire was going. Daryl gave the signal once he'd whipped his head around, stalking across the yard to the steps. He motioned for Rick that it seemed all clear. Daryl bent down and wiped some of the bright red blood off the steps and smeared it between his fingers.

"This ain't no walker. It's too red." He paused. "And warm." Daryl looked gravely up at Rick, his gun still at the ready.

Rick swallowed hard and opened the door to the farmhouse. The blood trail seemed to continue toward the kitchen. The two men avoided stepping in it as they crept down the hallway. Rick stopped short when he heard a female voice.

"Di'you hear that? Sounded like the door."

"I'll go check it out." A voice decidedly Carl's. Rick's shoulders slackened a bit.

Carl appeared around the corner and looked up his very armed father. "Woah. Dad."

Rick lowered his pistol. "What the hell is going on in here? Who's hurt?"

Carl flashed a boyish, freckly, know-it-all grin and flicked the brim of his hat up. "No one's hurt, dad. I bagged my first deer!"

Daryl stepped forward. "And y'all dragged it into the house, bleedin' like a stuck pig?"

Carl took his hat off and fiddled with the tassels, embarrassed. "Yeah… It wandered into the yard, so I shot it. A couple times. I wanted you guys to have a great dinner when you got back."

Rick sighed and passed an exhausted glance at Daryl. He crouched in front of his son. "Well done, Carl. But we need to get this all cleaned up, the walkers will smell the blood."

Carl nodded, and Daryl patted him on the shoulder as he passed through to the kitchen to survey the kid's kill. There it was, spread out on the kitchen island like a bikini model on a surfboard. It was a small doe, but the kid did well enough. They'd have some fresh meat. Carol was the only one in the kitchen, washing her hands with the dish soap before touching the venison.

Daryl stepped in. "Lemme. Y'don't know what you're doin."

"I do too, Mr. Dixon. I took a "Southern Woman's Cooking Course" once. Carol laughed. "At least let me help you."

Daryl's stomach flopped, her true laugh did that to him. He glanced up from the deer at Carl, who had come to retrieve a brush and a bucket to get rid of the blood.

Carl looked despondent, having been the evening's hero but now forced to swab the decks. "Dad's makin' me clean up all the blood, Carol. Sorry I can't help with the stew."

"That's okay, Carl, I've got Daryl to help now. Thanks again for getting the deer for us!"

Carl grinned at her and left to join his father. As his footsteps echoed down the hall, Daryl felt comfortable responding to her plea.

"I'll teach ya. No shitty cooking class is gonna teach ya how to do this right. Jus' watch me." Daryl glanced around. "There's gonna be more blood, but I guess it's better n' here than outside where the geeks'll smell it."

"After what I've seen today, I'm not squeamish." She smiled at him ruefully.

Daryl cut into the deer to avoid having to look too long at that smile. It was just too much, after the day he'd had.


	3. Huddle

**AN/Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. **

**First of all, I want to thank all of you that followed and favorited. I'm glad you like my story enough to subscribe! Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. It's kinda fluffy, I guess? I'm not super familiar with FF jargon, so I could be wrong. :P**

**I've been thinking about what other chapters I would like to write, and I will consider prompts in the form of reviews if you have ideas you want to share. I don't particularly want to write about canon scenes, I don't mind when others do that, but I think I want to write new material. What do you guys think?**

**Thanks for the reading, everyone!**

Chapter 3: Huddle

Daryl was on first watch tonight. Watch was the worst task in the winter- several hours of sitting out on the porch and freezing your ass off. It was torture. He decided to take a quick break and check inside to see how everyone was doing. It wasn't much warmer inside, maybe a few degrees difference. He took a mental inventory of the house.

Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, he knew Glenn and Maggie would be together, much to old man Herschel's chagrin. In the master bedroom, the Grimes family would be sharing a bed, but there would be no amorous snuggling between the adults. Rick and Lori hardly spoke to each other in recent days, despite her belly swelling and longing looks she tossed his way. No, Rick would be in bed with his wife and child, but his back would be to Lori's. He provided for them the body heat and warmth they needed, doing his duty to his family, but would not the give her the affection she so greatly desired. He knew this, because he'd had to wake both men up for their respective watch shifts. In another bedroom with two twin beds, Hershel and Beth bunked together like college roommates.

Daryl's eyes combed the living room as he checked for the last two members of their group. T-Dog was huddled up on the couch, his face turned into the cushions. It was his watch next, and he wasn't going to be happy about it. And then there was Carol, who was…awake? His eyes caught hers from her nest on the floor and he gave her a quick nod.

He considered it for a second, then decided it wouldn't hurt to wake T up a little early. He strode stiffly over the couch, and shoved his shoulder. T jerked awake, everyone was always alarmed when they're woken up, no matter how gently.

"'Ey T. It's your watch."

"Already? Damn." T-Dog stirred, and slowly hauled himself off the couch, one limb at a time. "Kept it warm for ya, Dixon." After he was in a seated position, he gestured to the spot he just occupied.

Daryl grunted and glanced out the picture window. "I'mma be up for a little while." He avoided stealing a glance at Carol, who has propped her head up on her elbow.

T nodded at Carol and reached for his shotgun at the end of the couch. With a lazy salute, he lumbered outside.

Finding themselves alone, Daryl sat down on the couch and kicked his boots off. He looked down at Carol, who was now watching him intently. "Can't sleep?"

"No. It's too cold in here. My feet are like ice, but I don't want to put my shoes on."

"Well ya gotta sleep. Need your strength." Daryl could have sworn he could see her face flush slightly in the moonbeam coming through the window.

"I know. It's just. Every time I try to sleep I shiver myself awake, you know?" Carol rolled her head back on the pillow, hugging her arms to herself. "Or gosh, sometimes I think I'll just freeze to death in my sleep. Might be a challenge for a walker to gnaw on me then, huh?" She punctuated her dramatic statement with a smile.

Daryl shook his head. It was cold, but he had no trouble sleeping. Every day was so exhausting. He thought for a second. He had an important decision to make. He could either let Carol have another sleepless night, or he could invite her up to the couch with him. The latter seemed unthinkable, but he cared too much to let her go without at least a little rest.

"C'mon. Up here." He tossed his head, gesturing for her to get up.

"What?" Her blue eyes widened.

"Don' make this a national issue, Carol. Get up here." His voice was assertive, but soft. "You're gonna get some sleep, even if I have to force ya."

Daryl watched Carol quickly gather up her blankets and pillow. He got up, allowing her to be closest to the back of the couch. He wouldn't be too comfortable, but it'd be worth it. She laid down with her pillow, and he gruffly tossed the blankets over her. Then, ever so carefully, he sat back down, and finally reclined, their backs touching. Daryl tucked his right hand under his head, and shifted until he was situated somewhat comfortably.

Carol couldn't believe this gesture from him. He barely let her into his personal space, let alone touch him. She felt strangely honored and incredibly grateful. She was much warmer now. She felt her feet brush against his, and she whispered, "Sorry."

He grunted. "Go to sleep."

Carol wondered how it would look in the morning, when they were found together on the couch, most likely in a position less platonic than this. She knew she didn't care, but Daryl probably would. She made a mental order to herself not to shift in the night whatsoever. She knew she couldn't actually do this, but she wanted to spare Daryl any embarrassment.

Daryl closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth Carol provided. It wasn't just physical, though. His brain whirred with excitement. Daryl felt warm in his stomach, his chest, and his heart. He thought for a moment that he might have sleeping problems of his own, but his exhaustion got the best of him, and he drifted off.


	4. No Diving

**Disclaimer/AN: I don't own The Walking Dead.**

**Sorry it's taking me longer intervals to update this story. I basically just write chapters when I'm inspired to do so, but I also don't want to disappoint you followers! This chapter is inspired by one of my favorite songs.**

**Once again, if you have ideas of what you'd like to see happen, leave a review or send me a message, I might just write it in!**

**Thanks again for reading.**

No Diving

They'd moved on since the farmhouse, the walker herds moving straight through their makeshift homestead. Their escape plan went smoothly, everyone completed his or her jobs with out incident. The cars were quickly packed and they were out on the road again. They drove for quite some time, trying to distance themselves from that herd, but ran straight into another. It seemed like all of Georgia was a death trap.

Daryl's motorcycle took the lead as they broke free of the last clump of walkers and continued into a more suburban area. The place was called "Saddle Creek" and it was nothing if not posh, before this mess. The towering mansions sprawled on overgrown lawns, spaced out from each other at luxurious distances. The group traveled as far back toward the forest as they could, reaching a white and grey house complete with towering pillars, and a chandelier that once illuminated the spacious Georgian front porch. Now, the adirondacks and wicker rocking chairs were scattered about in haste of escape.

Without anything but a nod, Rick signaled that this is where they would camp, at least for the night. Everyone filed in, and in hushed tones marveled at the lavish home while inspecting for walkers. Surprisingly, there were none, and when the place was clear, everyone picked sleeping arrangements. The place wasn't as homey and comforting as Hershel's estate, but it was plenty spacious and there were plenty of beds to spare.

Daryl wasn't quite interested in where he'd end up, he'd take whatever was left over. He instead exited the glass back door and took a look at the wide stretch of back yard. There, nestled in the overgrown grass was a swimming pool. It was dirty now, and dotted with fallen leaves.

It was overcast, with a threat of rain in the air. The trees, mostly bare now, seemed to reach up to the sky in a silent plea.

"Nice day, huh?"

Daryl jumped, grasping for his crossbow.

"Sorry I scared you. Didn't think you'd scare that easy, Dixon." He turned to look at her, and she smiled. "I don't think I've ever managed to sneak up on you before…must have something on your mind."

Daryl grunted and looked back at the trees.

"Not gonna tell me, hm?" Carol stepped up to the side of the dirty pool, her boots scraping on the concrete. She was content to talk at Daryl if he wasn't willing to talk to her. She looked down at the murky water. "Wouldn't this have been nice during the summer? Taking dips in the pool, sipping lemonade?" She chuckled at her own joke as her reflection wavered at her, the water slightly moving with the breeze.

That got her another grunt and a-not-so-sneer from Daryl as he turned to look at the dark teal depths beside her. The brown and yellow leaves gathered together in little clumps and scooted around the top of the water before eventually becoming so sodden that they sank to the bottom.

"It's not pretty to look at, is it?" She didn't expect a response. "Reminds me of another time, though. Not before this, I mean" she paused briefly and added, "but when I was young."

"Never swam in a pool, maself." Daryl spoke for the first time. "We had the pond for that. 'Sides, didn't know anyone who had a swimming pool."

"Oh I didn't have one either." She glanced up at him, pleased she got him to chime in. "But a lot of my girlfriends from school did. We'd have pool parties all summer long. It was so much fun." She looked back down at her reflection. "How fun it was to be sixteen and carefree."

Daryl looked over at her then. She had that look on her face again, the look she wore so often when Sophia was missing. He hated that look, it made his gut twist. He wanted so badly to tell her to stop looking like that, or to help somehow.

"Lots of things have changed since then." She reached up to run her fingers through her hair. "I didn't look like this." She looked up at him and gave a watery smile. "Can you believe it? I used to be young!" She chuckled again, a real smile this time.

"Y'look young to me." Daryl said it before he could clamp a hand over his own mouth to keep it from sneaking out. He was mortified.

Carol shushed him and gave him a sidelong look. "I'm flattered, but have you seen all of us lately? We're a rough bunch!" She looked back at the pool. "Poor Lori, dark circles so big she looks like a raccoon. And Carl, that boy could use a haircut. I'd love to get a hold of him and a pair of scissors."

Daryl figured since he's already gone and embarrassed himself, he'd ask. She seemed to have a thought about everyone's appearance; he might as well throw his hat in the ring. He wanted to know what she thought about him physically. "Wha' 'bout me?"

Carol outright laughed, and his stomach dropped.

"Daryl Dixon, you've been dirty since the day I met you!" Perhaps sensing his embarrassment, or just reading the bewildered look on his face, she quickly added: "That's not true, you've washed up every now and then. You clean up nice."

At this, Daryl looked away and kicked some leaves in the pool.

Carol smirked and tugged at his elbow. "C'mon, let's get inside and help with dinner."

"Nah, I should go huntin', see what's in these woods. Make sure it's safe." He adjusted the strap of his crossbow on his shoulder purposefully.

"Alright. Try not to be gone too long, ok?" Carol smiled his way.

Daryl nodded and tramped off toward the forest.


	5. Style

**AN/Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead or its characters.**

**I'm back! Sorry it's taken me so long to update, and it shows with this chapter I'm afraid. I tried to incorporate actual outfits from Season 3 into it, with the exclusion of Lori's shirt.**

**I really wanted to show Carol's slow transformation into the character she is now in this chapter, I really admire how far she has come lately, her confidence is hard not to smile at. **

**It's definitely not my best, and there's not much Daryl/Caryl but I had fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it too. -Admiral**

_Style_

Lori, Carol, Maggie and Beth marveled at the mound of clothes piled on one of the beds. Rick and Daryl had been out scouting in the neighborhood and grabbed as many pieces of clothing that they could handle and dumped them on one of the beds for the ladies to choose and sort. Their old clothes were becoming threadbare from primitive ways of washing, hard work, and general decay. Everything around here was decaying.

"It's been so long since I've been shopping." Maggie admitted with a smile. She reached into the pile and retrieved a simple black sweater with an open knit style.

Lori looked for anything with stretch. She was confined in her usual woven shirts and found some larger t-shirts to make herself comfortable in. She grinned and held up a long sleeve tee that said "Green County Annual Fish Fry 2008" complete with corny fishing clip art. "Perfect." She joked, and added it to her pile.

Carol was hesitant, knowing nothing about what to choose for herself. She'd rather everyone else take what they needed, and she'd take the rest.

"Come on, Carol. You need to pick something out too." Beth nudged her side, a pair of cropped jeans bunched in her delicate hands.

"Oh I'm okay, you all choose and I'll take whatever's left over. I'm no good at dressing myself anyway."

Lori shook her head, remembering what Carol was saying during the traffic jam the group looted so long ago. "Ed doesn't decide what you wear anymore, Carol. You do." She playfully poked her in the shoulder and gave her one of those signature tight smiles. "What's your favorite color?"

Carol smiled bashfully, feeling inner warmth from her supportive friends. "What do you think would look nice?"

"Beth's the fashionista around here, she can help you." Maggie set aside a plain grey t-shirt that looked like Glenn's size.

"Would you?" Carol looked hopefully at Beth, who responded merely by grinning and nodding.

Beth immediately went to work hand-selecting clothes for Carol, her bright wide eyes scanning the pile. She yanked out a few items and inspected them, also keeping her father in mind as she perused.

Carol meanwhile pulled out a few plain men's shirts. She inspected them for missing buttons or holes. Taking one of the shirts in both of her hands she cut a tiny hole in the shoulder with her knife, then began to tear at the shoulder and sleeve, ripping it clean off. Everyone had stopped to gape and wonder what she was doing with their brand new clothes. Carol answered their questions without words, held the newly sleeveless shirt up, and shrugged with a wide grin. Fits of laughter ensued.

* * *

The clothing was sorted into piles, only a few articles being deemed unfit for wear, but they would have other purposes such as rags or makeshift bandages. Beth strode toward Carol with a small but intimidating pile. "Here, Carol. Try some of these on and see if you like them!"

Carol took the pile, and retreated to the bathroom. Leaving her frumpy home shopping network clothes on the floor, she stepped into some slacks, slipped on a tank, and a light sweater adorned with embroidery at the sleeves. She turned to examine herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Her hands smoothed over the sweater and tank, which clung to her frame and left nothing to the imagination. She picked up the belt she'd been using to hold her knife and gun, and strapped it low across her hips. She turned this way and that, examining her curves. Her hand went into her growing hair, fluffing the gentle curls at the nape of her neck. She couldn't believe how much she'd changed, and not just physically. She liked it. She was proud, proud of what she had become. And damn if she wasn't proud of the way she looked just then.

Smiling at her reflection, she pulled open the door, where the rest of the ladies were patiently waiting for her verdict.

"You did good, Beth." Carol revealed herself, and did a little turn in her new outfit.

Beth clapped her hands together and grinned miles wide. "Looking good, Carol!" She was wearing a new blouse with those cropped jeans and a wide belt. Lori beamed and gathered up a pile of clothes for Rick and Carl, tucking them into the bag in their room.

"I'm gonna take these clothes to Glenn and T. Beth, could you put Daddy's in your room?" Maggie stacked the bundles carefully to take them to their new owners.

Beth nodded and scurried off with her father's new clothes. Carol supposed she was left to give Daryl's to him. Not that she minded another chance to pester him. She folded the modified shirt on top of the others neatly and gathered them up to make a delivery.

It didn't take long to find him, he was outside on the porch with Rick, keeping watch and sharpening his large hunting knife. They both nodded at her as she approached, watching her a little differently than usual.

"Looks like you found something worth wearin', Carol." Rick remarked, looking up at her with a small smile.

Carol wasn't quite sure what Rick meant by that, but tried to hide her blush. She noticed that Daryl's knife hung loose in his hand as he stared at her, mouth set in a straight line. "Thanks for finding them for us, boys. We've divvied them up…I've just come to bring Daryl his share."

"I'll leave you to it, then. I should find Carl." Rick went back inside, his boots scraping on the wooden porch.

Carol handed Daryl his stack of clothes. "Here you are. See, look? I modified this one for you."

Daryl picked up the sleeveless shirt and a tiny smirk appeared on his lips. "Thanks." He set the stack of clothing beside him, and picked up his knife. He wasn't very interested in it at present, but too sheepish to look back up at Carol.

"D'you like my new outfit? Beth picked it out for me." The toe of Carol's right boot twisted girlishly on the wood planks.

Shit. He had to look now. He glanced back up briefly before returning to his sharpening. "S'nice."

Carol laughed lightly. "Knew you wouldn't care much. I'll let you get back to work, then."

"I care." He blurted out, looking back up at her before she could turn away.

She smiled warmly back down at him. "I know. I was just kiddin'."

Daryl watched her slink away, confidence radiating out of her as she walked back in the house to help with more chores.


	6. Escape

**AN/ Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead.**

**I think this is the last chapter of Rare and Welcome, so I hope you all like it. I will probably want to start a new series after this season's finale, I love writing new storylines that speculate about what the show doesn't show us.**

**I realize this rather mirrors the first episode of Season 3, but I really wanted it to be their last hurrah before they're cornered on every side by walkers, and have that first episode be a continuation of this celebration. I know all of this is non-canon, but I try to be fairly accurate to the characters and story.**

**Just a warning, there's some graphic-ish walker activity in this one, but I don't think you'd be reading this if you were sensitive to zombies. :P**

**Without further preamble, here's the last chapter. Enjoy!**

_Escape_

It wasn't going to last long, and everyone knew it. The herds were still on the move, looking for their next meal. They eagerly yet slowly ambled their way through forests, drug across fields, and hobbled along streams.

When they came to Saddle Creek, the group were relaxing outside. A low fire was built, but the crisp new spring air was being enjoyed. Beth's face was illuminated, a pretty orange and gold, her bright eyes flashing in the firelight. She sung beautifully, with no accompaniment, her voice clean and youthful, to match the new season. Everyone's spirits were high, they'd spent a week at the house, and all was well. Glenn and Maggie sat tangled together on a wide adirondack chair. T-Dog's head rested in his palms lying back on the tall grass, taking deep purposeful breaths. Lori and Rick even exchanged a small smile.

Daryl emerged from the forest, a raccoon slung over his shoulder. He crept closer, without drawing too much attention to himself. Smiles were tossed his way, in a silent "glad you're back" gesture, but it was Carol's that was the largest. He sidled up next to her and nodded. He felt more comfortable with Carol lately. The butterflies subsided the more time they spent together. His original avoidance strategy was the wrong one to choose, it seemed. Her big smile still rested upon him, and her hand came up to graze his forearm. It didn't matter to her that he was caked with dirt and mud, she was still happy to see him. Still wearing that damned new sweater.

"Great timing, we're all relaxing. Here, sit with me." She urged, gently tugging his arm as she sat down in the uncut grass.

Daryl set the carcass down and sat down next to her, their knees brushing together.

"I think T's got the right idea…" she pointed over where he was lying by the fire. She slowly reclined back and rested her head in her hands.

Daryl wasn't entirely sure what to do other than follow her lead, and he lowered himself into the dewy grass. The tall shoots obscured her from his view, so he stared up at the clear night sky, the stars glimmering so far away. He wondered what it would be like to be out there, swimming in that vast space. He dreamt of touching that black velvet with curious hands.

"Daryl?" Her voice interrupted his dreaming.

"Hm?" He saw her hand reach out, swiping at the grass to see him. Her face was slowly revealed, along with her shoulders and lithe arm, swatting at the stray blades still obscuring her vision of him. He saw her mouth drop open slightly, but she didn't say anything right away.

"I feel like I should tell you something. But I'm scared to. Does that make sense?"

He nodded. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

She scooted closer. His stomach flipped. She propped herself up on an elbow, and was nearly looming over him. He looked up at her face with hesitation, Beth's clear and smooth voice adding even more ethereal ambiance to the evening. She looked conflicted, unsure of what she was doing. Neither of them said a word.

Her hand came up to touch his cheek, which made him flinch at the sudden movement. Her eyes darted over to meet his, in a silent apology. Her smooth thumb glided over his cheekbone, and he wasn't sure, but he could have sworn she'd gotten closer. Fighting with his better instinct, he brought his own hand up to touch hers, grasping it gently.

"Daryl, I…" She abandoned her words, and leaned in even further, their breaths mingling. She was so close.

A scream tore across the lawn, and they jumped apart like the wrong ends of a magnet. Daryl leapt to his feet, grabbing Carol by the arm at just the right moment to usher her away from the walker headed straight for the raccoon carcass, and presumably them. The undead dove on the deceased creature, tearing its head clean off and sinking its rotted teeth into the neck.

The group was scrambling. There was no clear direction they were coming from, they appeared to be surrounded. There was hurried gunfire at walkers that got too close, a quick solution when knives seemed too risky. However, the ruckus only brought more of them near, and they came from every angle.

Daryl let a crossbow bolt fly and with a low thunk it landed smack in the skull of a walker that was getting too close. Carol held her gun out in front of her, shaking from the sudden surge of adrenaline. She wasn't able to aim at all, her hands betrayed her with their trembling as she gripped the pistol. She'd been trained, but not well enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rick push an errant walker into the fire, putting it out with the flesh of the undead. The damned thing growled in higher pitch, its rumpled skin being seared clean off.

"We have to go!" Rick shouted, grabbing a rifle that got dropped on the ground.

"C'mon." Daryl pulled Carol, arms still thrusting her pistol out in defense. His bike was nearby, parked on the lawn. He threw his leg over and started the engine.

"What about the supplies!?" Lori's voice could be heard over the clamor.

"Leave them!" Rick's orders were acknowledged, everyone piling into cars and heading for the road.

Carol pulled herself close to Daryl on the bike. She felt too scared to be sad about the group's interrupted reverie and the loss of their temporary home, but she was angry that she'd choked when it came to using her gun. She made a silent oath to herself that she'd never hesitate again.

Daryl hadn't left yet, he was waiting for everyone to get in their cars, his neck twisted around to the right and behind him, his finger on the trigger of his crossbow. He wasn't watching his other side, but Carol was. As a rogue walker approached, picking up its pace as it sensed prey, Carol cupped Daryl's left ear as she lifted her right arm over his shoulder and fired at the approaching undead. It dropped in a heap, black blood spurting from its head wound.

Daryl noticed what she'd done, and couldn't help but crack a smile. Always looking out for him, that one.


End file.
